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wounds that never heal
bruised knees that’ll never kneel
again
scars that know no prayer
offered up by pain
direction without a path . .
passion without heart
know not where to follow
breath so shallow
that it’s hollow
scabs that leave their mark
shed on altars stained and stark
sinners that'll never change
demons adorned in robes of faith
never are things
seen as they're supposed to be
they're seen as they are
as hard as one tries
yuh just can’t make crooked straight
Can’t get enough
but don't want more
a v i d i t y . .
persistent
relentless
, , c o r e
ain’t no such thing
as a prayer for the damned
like cussing at the wind ~
does it really matter
if the fire feeds the flame
or the flame feeds the fire
when it’s the smoke that kills yuh ~
Show me the woundless
I'll show you the perpetrators
of this
I am the horizon-walker
the thought that thought itself
the obsidian knife
that carved truth from
the balls of existence
I'm not the picture nor the frame
the painting nor the paint
. . but the brush
every stroke made to tell this story
if only one can read or see
beyond just colour and hue
there's a story being told
between the threads of canvas
between the convergence
of tint and colour
shadow and shade
shadows cast shadows
of their own
every blind inspiration
a vision intended to be discovered
voices
from the other side of silence
w h i s p e r s . .
scream like banshees in my dreams
sacred songs
sacrosanct
communion bleed
on temple stairs
life the circus
in which we have found ourselves
surely
no mask nor subterfuge
can hide or protect us
from the abomination
You don't have to win
for the other side to lose
just last longer
they need their pound of flesh
chalices laid to catch blood
altars laid bare for sacrifical
offerings to the gods
vultures collect their bounty . . .
honey licked
from their gnarled greedy fingers
money means nothing
If yuh still ain't free
not if yuh still can’t breathe ~
dying
from a heart that can't feel
. . the wolf
doesn't just look like a shepherd
he wears the skin of a lamb
neither hunter nor the hunted
he’s the hunt . . !
L i f e i n t h e M a t r i x
© mingoáo
